Give Me a Call, Won't You, Yuuri?
by enarcoyufuin
Summary: Yuuri's been down in the dumps ever since his loss at the Sochi Olympics. But can a mysterious call turn his frown upisde down?


**a/n: this is my first (and most likely only) yuri on ice fic-i'd been working on it for two years, but i'd been too busy to actually finish it, so i'm sorry if it isn't the best. this is an au where yuuri doesn't skate at the ice castle after he comes home to hasetsu, he instead broods at home. enjoy!**

Amber eyes brightened in wonder as five-time international champion Viktor Nikiforov landed another quad of his program, just like always. Yuuri Katsuki scooted closer to the television to get a better view of his silver-haired idol as he took flight on the ice, face muddled with emotions and hair swinging to and fro. Even though he had suffered a crushing defeat in Sochi during the Grand Prix Finals (and ended up with a scolding from the Russian Fairy himself for his behavior), it was always nice to sit back and watch a real professional own the ropes. What bugged him the most was the heartbreaking look on the older Russian's face as he rushed out of the building to avoid accepting his offer. He felt like he didn't deserve to participate in anything with Viktor—a Grand Prix was overstepping boundaries enough, let alone a commemorative photo. His urge to express his passion for skating blossomed from the day he had seen his celebrity crush glide on the ice eleven years ago. However, when he had aimed too high, his anxiety cannibalized his determination. There was no fixing that, no matter how much he had practiced.

Sighing heavily, Yuuri grabbed the remote and shut off the television, the fading, scrambling pixels a sure reflection of his current mindset. Minako-sensei had welcomed him with open arms when he had returned, but it seemed like the saké had drowned her enthusiasm as he noticed her passed out in a corner, smothered by numerous pillows and rambling on about gobbledygook in her drunken stupor. His mother passed by with a pile of fresh linen, shaking her head at her senpai but leaving her be. A yawn escaped the brunet as he dragged his socked feet across the wooden flooring, exhaustion seeping through every pore in his body. He tried not to dwell on his fleeting train of thought as he prepared himself for bed, basking in the homely atmosphere of his room. _So much for not dwelling on it_ , he glowered wistfully as his eyes took in the sight of Viktor lodged between every nook and cranny.

It's not that he never had the chance to take them down no matter how much he wanted to, he could never silence his conscious yelling at him to keep them up there. Yuuri had stored up enough excuses to last a lifetime. ' _They were gifts_.' Which was technically true, since majority of them had been resting up there for approximately a decade, some sporting dog ears at the edges, others recent additions to his ever-growing collection. ' _I never have enough time to._ ' Well, he had plenty of that now since figure skating season had just ended. ' _Um, they mean a lot to me?_ ' Now he was just grasping at straws!

In an attempt to clear his head, he rummaged through his closet in search of his laptop. Which again, was embarrassingly adorned with chibi stickers of his role model. The twenty-three-year-old sweat dropped pathetically, opening the computer with a flourish and plugging his headphones in carefully.

He knew that both Minako-sensei and his ex-coach Celestino had warned him not to fret over the news hype backlash and take his loss in stride a while ago, but he couldn't resist the temptation of the gossip. Scrolling down the long list of notifications that had been neglected, his eyebrows furrowed at the many pictures of Viktor at his best, standing proudly at the podium, holding press conferences with a smile, reporters gushing about his perfect sportsmanship. Yuuri felt his face grow hot from the comments fangirls had left on each image, a few more promiscuous than others. His wireless mouse lead his arrow to exit the tab when a new window had popped up suddenly before it, bringing with it a strange sort of ringing that he had instantaneously recognized.

"I should be asking who in their right mind could be Skyping me this late at night," he grumbled, pushing up his glasses and squinting to get a better read at the username. Not even bothering to spell it or even pronounce it, Yuuri rubbed his eyes furiously at an attempt to will it away. ' _Ah, what've I got to lose? After all, it'd be nice to vent my frustrations to anybody right about now_ ,' answering the request to video chat.

Maximizing the screen, his eyes surveyed the new environment before him. Bright, pristine walls surrounded the room, a simple light to dark color scheme giving the sense of formality with a hint of luminescence. A few trinkets lined various furniture, a few matryoshka dolls to the far left of the call window along with a half-eaten plate of pirozhki and scattered papers covered in harried chicken scratch spread all over a small coffee table. After a few empty minutes of staring, Yuuri's eyes had closed involuntarily, whether of sleepiness or comfort, he did not know. Soft hums and murmuring from the other side accompanied the whir of his computer fans as his breathing began to deepen.

"Ah!" the voice exclaimed cheerfully and loudly, prompting Yuuri's eyes to fly open in terror. Wheezing in shock, he almost flung the expensive piece of technology off of his lap while he struggled to prevent his heart from stopping. The brunet could barely hear the other's confused questioning through the blood rushing in his ears, the yanked-out earbuds resting at his side limply. Glasses askew, he sat upright, turning the screen away from him but placing them back in warily.

" _Privyet_ , Yuuri." The voice crooned sweetly, Yuuri shivering unconsciously at the foreign greeting. He had figured that it was too late to end the call and his innate Japanese manners chided him for the awkward pause. " _Eto…konbawa_ ," the bespectacled brunet squeaked out, alarms screeching in his head. ' _This guy doesn't sound like he speaks a lick of Japanese; I can tell that by his username alone. So how will we be able to understand one another…?'_ He broke out into a cold sweat, scourging his room for any type of translator dictionary. After a minute of clawing through his bookshelf, a eureka moment made him smile. ' _Maybe he speaks English? I'm a little rusty, but it's better than nothing!_ '

" _Um, hello?"_ He coughed roughly, wincing at the amateur English spilling from his lips. Definitely rusty. But the stranger seemed to catch on, chuckling before he uttered another greeting. "Hello, Yuuri! Is this much better for you, hm?" Yuuri nodded frantically, still avoiding the glare of the screen, noting the heavily accented English but dismissing the thought of hanging up yet again. "Is that a yes? I cannot see you when you are not facing me, _podsolnechnik_." Gulping noisily, Yuuri's eyes flew upwards, praying to Kami-sama that he wouldn't embarrass himself more than he already had, and rotated the computer with a quick flick of the wrist.

"Much better. It is nice to see you again, Yuuri Katsuki." The chubby brunet froze abruptly at one of the rudest awakenings he's ever gotten in his life. ' _Viktor. Nikiforov. Talking to ME?! I must be dreaming, or this is a cruel joke, o-or something!_ ' Blood rushing through his ears yet again, he noticed the world grow dim and his head lighten tremendously before the land of unconsciousness had attempted to snatch him from the throes of reality. ' _Don't faint, don't faint, don't faint, don't faint,_ ' he chanted incessantly, mentally struggling to keep himself awake. Viktor's panicked, broken foreign chatter filtered through, watching the Japanese skater sway unsteadily with a glazed look in his eye. He could tell that the Russian had never had to deal with this up close and personal, and yet, here he was, causing him to worry.

 _Stupid,_ he groused in self-loathing. He had just managed to compose himself and reassure Viktor that _yes_ , he was alright, _no_ , he wasn't dying, and _yes_ , it happens sometimes (read: quite often). Viktor's ice blue eyes trembled, flecks of worry and shock remained apparent. Yuuri's stomach fluttered at the show of compassion, squashing it down as quickly as it came. But he knew his face was flushed as his silver-haired senior's face softened, a bright smile following suit.

"I'm glad you are doing well. I thought I would never get in contact with you after you ran away." Memories of the Grand Prix flashed behind his eyelids, reminding him of the confused and heartbroken expression Viktor had worn that night. Guilt gripped his heart in a merciless hold as he continued to listen to Viktor speak about the lengths he had gone to find his information. "It had been a long year after all and…wait. There's something off about you," he implored innocently, tilting his head and letting his hair hide his eye. "Did you get a haircut?"

"Um, no." Yuuri had kept his hair a modest length when he was a teenager, another attempt to emulate Viktor by growing out his hair and purposefully 'forgetting' visits to the barber. He had passed it off to his parents as a 'rebellious phase'. It wasn't until he graduated from the academy that he had cut it to its current style, after Viktor himself had shorn off his beautiful locks following his acceptance into the senior division.

"Ah, I know! You have gotten plump!" He snapped his fingers in excitement, oblivious to the sour glare Yuuri was giving him. With the unfortunate passing of Vicchan, along with consecutive losses branding him as nothing more than a mediocre rookie, Yuuri let himself go. Food became his best friend, his comfort. It was there whenever he got bored. It understood him the most. Flying back to Japan before finishing college marked his resignation of the hope of ever being a champion. When he boarded to the plane back to Hasetsu however, he had a lot of time to think about where his life was headed. The everlasting prospect of ' _What now?_ ' accompanied him wherever he went. And Viktor just threw it all back in his face. Granted, he didn't know, but it still hurt.

"You used to be so thin, but now you're just a cute little piglet—"

"Do you know what time it is?" Yuuri burst out rudely, interrupting the man before he could bask in his insensitivity. His face mirrored Viktor's surprise, then morphed into condescending anger. "You may not know this, but here in Japan, it's really late. And I'd like to go to bed now, it's been a very exhausting day for me." He snapped, frustration leaking out of every pore. "Good night, Viktor." He lowered the hood of the laptop.

"Wait, hold on! I had no idea what time it was. It's only eight in the evening here in St. Petersburg. And I really wanted to talk face-to-face with you. Well, computer-to-computer. I saw something that day, when you were on the ice. I saw a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, a skater who never gave up when the odds were against him. He'd had a rough start, but he hit the ground running to catch up with the others. Nerves cornered him at every turn, yet he got up." Yuuri opened his mouth to interrupt again, but a stern look from Viktor kept him quiet.

"He believed he was weak because of this. But his strength dwarfed giants, his love for the sport unparalleled by any other name. This man is you, Yuuri. You are not weak. You learn from your failures and try to make up for your shortcomings. Although your nervousness may get the best of you, let me remind you of one thing." He eye-smiled while pointing to himself. "You've got me now, _da_? If you need someone to confide in, I will be your diary. Tell me your secrets," he murmured seductively, masking his grin at the flabbergasted look on the Japanese's face with a slender hand.

Mist ebbed at the corners of Yuuri's eyes, a lump lodged in his throat. Earlier, he would have swiftly dismissed this man as if he were any other person on the planet. But hearing the raw honesty in Viktor's voice sent his mind reeling towards a myriad of feelings; happiness, regret, shock blended together. Fluffy cheeks dusted themselves in blush as he let his tears fall, scrubbing at his eyelids fervently as he dimly registered Viktor's inelegant blubbering on the other line. He snorted at the harried attitude the Russian had inadvertently adopted after being exposed to Yuuri's blatant sensitivity for too long.

"Ah, you're too cute, Viktor, y'know that?" ' _That shut him up awfully quick. Kuso, did I say that out loud?'_ Viktor's face lit up a crimson red as his mouth worked wordlessly. Yuuri's face gradually blossomed into a modest smirk. "So, the great Viktor Nikiforov can dish it out, but can't take it? What a shocker! Wait 'till the press hears this one!" Shaken out of his flustered stupor, the Russian champion began to chortle, aquamarine eyes shut in his mirth.

"Be careful, Yuuri! Now that you know my secret, you might ruin me yet!" he joked, encouraging the Japanese skater to join in, tears of overwhelming emotion turning into tears of joy.

Calming down, Viktor took in the sight of the brunet, letting a soft, yet genuine smile overtake him. He could tell just by his performance that Sochi was a bigger leap for Yuuri that he had ever taken before. It's not everyday that you compete in the Olympics, after all. Seeing how devastated Yuuri was broke his own spirit, even considering his drunken proposition later that night. If this is what he was looking for a year ago, he's sure he found it. Another blush overtakes him as he watches Yuuri laugh at the jest, a pure sound of tinkling bells and whimsical chimes that he grows to adore.

Continuing to chat into the night, yawns escape Yuuri at the four am mark, luminescent numbers glaring at him from his nightstand. Viktor, however, barely looks worse for wear as he blathers on about his darling Makkachin, the source of the constant barking in the background. Again Yuuri started to drop off, only making affirmative noises and shaking his head at literally anything. At some point, he had thrown his blankets over himself as a makeshift tent, light from the screen acting as a lantern in the darkness. Eyelids slide shut at accented silk sifting through his headphones...

"-ri…"

"...uuri…"

" _Yuuri!_ "

" _OKITE IMASU!_ " Yuuri, shaken out of his impromptu slumber, fumbles for a grasp of English, blinking blearily at his idol, who is torn between wearing a mixture of bemusement and guilt upon his face. Rubbing his eyes wearily, he attempts to revive the conversation. "So, w-what were you talking about ag-" A yawn interrupts him, sending Viktor into a short peal of laughter.

"It's okay, Yuuri, there is no need. I will let you sleep." The silverette acquiesced, eye-smiling at Yuuri's protests. "No, no," Silver tresses go flying as he shakes his head sadly, "it's alright. I didn't mean to keep you so long, after all. Before I go, I'd like to say one last thing.

Yuuri, you are so much more than you think you are. It is okay to fly, only to fall. That is an essential part of life, like breathing and skating. Mistakes define who you are. They allow you to improve, to keep evolving. On that ice, your insecurities are what make you beautiful. Every loop, every sequence had me under a spell, I was mesmerized. It was as if your body was made to move to the music. I saw it in everything you did. And although you may consider yourself a failure, all I see is untapped potential. And if you'd let me, I'd like to unearth it with you. Next season, I'd like to be your coach, if that's possible."

"M-My coach? Did I just hear you right?" Maroon eyes widened as he attempted to process the Russian's proposition. ' _I must DEFINITELY be asleep, o-or dreaming, or something!_ ' Before he can panic again, the brunet breathes in deeply, closing his eyes in deep thought. When he opens them, a burning determination can be seen in smoldering amber.

"Listen, Viktor,"Viktor perks up immediately, turquoise eyes focused, "I'd love to have you as my coach and all, but can you give me a little time to think about it? I'm already overwhelmed with a lot on my plate right now, and I'd like to truly consider your offer before I make up my mind, if that's fair?"

The gold medalist's mile-wide grin dissipates, but just as quickly reappears.

"Sounds just fine to me. We can be friends, and work our way up from there! But until then, whenever you are troubled, give me a call. Won't you, Yuuri?"

"Mm. I'll be sure to, ha ha." Yuuri rubs his neck awkwardly. "So, I guess this is goodnight?"

" _Da_. _Dobroy nochi_. Well, _dobroye utro_ , in your case. And remember, I'll always be here, so give me a call anytime, during or after practice, it doesn't matter-Yakov won't care."

"Okay, I'll be sure to keep in touch. _Oyasuminasai_ , Viktor."

And no one can blame Yuuri if his dreams are filled with Italian melodies and the sharp sting of skates on the ice.


End file.
